The Thousandth Man House, MD
by trek-grrrl
Summary: "One man in a thousand, Solomon says, will stick more close than a brother..." 4 stanzas from Rudyard Kipling's poem. Spans the end of the series and beyond so SPOILERS. H/W slash. ConCrit most welcomed. I wish Drs House and Wilson were mine, but alas, they're not.
1. more close than a brother

(Author's note: Much of the dialogue in this first part is taken directly from episodes "Body and Soul" and "The C-Word" simply because they say it so poignantly I couldn't improve on them. I'm throwing in some observations, poetic license and missing scenes. This first part is rated T.)

_**...more close than a brother...**_

_"Body and Soul" 8.18_

Wilson: I have cancer...stage two thymoma. I didn't want to tell you till I had it confirmed. I got the tests back this morning. I have cancer, House.

_"The C-Word" 8.19_

Dr. Gregory House made himself comfortable on the couch inside Dr. James Wilson's oncologist's office at Princeton General. "I followed you. I'm not here as a doctor, I'm here as a towering pillar of strength. How many times have I told you that I wanted to be alone and you've made yourself a pain in the ass? I owe you. My word: not a word."

Wilson sighed, turning back to face the image of the thymoma. "Realizing that I'm most likely going to regret this, all right."

"You do realize that every day you wait, our pal Tumie's growing larger in your chest. If you want to live, stop screwing around and do something about it!" House implored, trying not to sound desperate, afraid it might carry over to his best friend. Towering pillar of strength, after all.

Wilson nodded. "Good idea. I think I'll start with spending Spring break on my own."

Later that morning, back at Princeton-Plainsboro, House found Wilson in his office, relaxing back in his desk chair, resting his eyes. The younger doctor opened an eye to sneak a peek, already knowing who it was due to the lack of a courteous knock. "Go away, I have a headache."

House quietly shut the door behind him, and began to slowly move about the room. "You don't have to have sex, sometimes it's nice just to cuddle and talk. Me first. You don't want a second opinion, you're already on your fifth. You have Evans at Mercy, Shaw at County, Foster at Johns Hopkins, and every one of them has given you the same advice. They're nuts. You don't just want chemo, you want a dose so high there's a one in three chance it'll kill you out-right. Question is, why didn't you tell me? Because you knew I'd stop you."

House was inching toward the back of Wilson's desk and chair. Wilson's expression was almost resigned, as if he knew that his best friend, the Master of Diagnoses and Figuring Things Out, was about to reveal Wilson's plan for dealing with his cancer. "Which means you've already found someone insane enough, or desperate enough, to give you what amounts to a death dose of chemicals. But who would be that stupid? I'm thinking that the 'who' is you!"

House used the rubber tip of his cane to flick the top of a cardboard box off, that Wilson had discreetly put behind his chair - but hadn't flat-out hidden it, as he now realized he should have.

"When exactly were you planning on killing yourself? See, I don't think Foreman's going to let you do it here."

Wilson swiveled to face House, who was now standing in front of the desk. "My place. I've been stockpiling equipment."

House reached into his pocket and pulled out his folding knife, about to cut open the exorbitantly expensive bag of clear liquid chemotherapy drugs.

Wilson jumped up, grabbing at House but the desk was blocking his way. In desperation, seeing his plan about to fail, he screamed "_No_! No, stop!"

House paused a moment to let Wilson say his piece.

"I'm still healthy. Why not go the extreme route now when there's a better chance of surviving it?"

House held the bag out for Wilson to take a good look. "Statistically this medicine has the same chance of killing you as the thymoma does, and a helluva lot faster."

Wilson was clearly upset when he explained. "I am not going to die slowly in a hospital bed with fluorescent lighting, with people stopping by, and gawk and lie about how I look. Even a small chance of that happening is too big of a chance for me."

Using one of his favorite lines, House said, "You're an idiot. The odds say you're gonna die."

He plopped the bag back down into the box to settle amongst the other paraphernalia Wilson had gleaned here and there from Oncology. Being the department head and in charge of its budget had some perks.

House walked to the door, opened it and paused. Turning his head slightly toward Wilson, he quietly said, "We'll do it at my place."

At quitting time, with House telling his minions he was taking a vacation for Spring break in Atlantic City ("Can't miss judging those wet t-shirt contests with my keen, discerning mind, now can I?"), he and Wilson managed to get the medical equipment and drugs they'd need into Wilson's car. House, on his motorcycle, led the way to his apartment where the two quietly, almost somberly, unloaded everything and got it set up in the living room.

Wilson changed into comfortable sweatpants and sweat jacket, his chest bare, and pulled the back off a little button that stuck to his skin to monitor his vitals. He heard House making some martinis - shaken, not stirred.

House brought them both their drinks, double on the olives.

House raised a toast, so Wilson followed suit. "To stupidity...Hmmm, not quite done. To muscle aches, spasms, till your joints feel like they've been ripped out and replaced with shards of broken glass."

Wilson smirked, "Should I be writing any of this down?"

House continued as if Wilson hadn't spoken. "Your stomach fills with bile and vomit feels like someone's sticking a white-hot hammer down your esophagus, tearing your flesh, blood's dripping down the back of your throat, choking and gagging and you get the coppery taste of burnt pennies."

Wilson pointed out the obvious: "I _am_ an oncologist, I know..."

"If you did we wouldn't be sitting here. Day two: your white blood cells are gone, opening up your system to attack. Your temperature sky-rockets; one second your skin feels like it's on fire, the next you're entombed in ice. Every pain sensor in your body is firing at the same time till 'agony' isn't even a word or a concept. It's your only reality. You hallucinate. You dream of death. And then the race begins: can your body claw its way back in time before the hostile organs miss parasites and claim you permanently? Win, you live; lose, you die. Now, what are we doing here, Wilson?"

Wilson didn't even hesitate. He handed House the bag of drugs without saying a word.

While Wilson enjoyed his third martini, House brought him some homemade stew which smelled remarkably good. It sometimes amazed Wilson how House, when he wanted to be, was an excellent cook.

"Eat up. It'll taste as good coming up as going down." He gave the big bowl and spoon to his best friend, along with a chunk of thick, fresh bread.

Wilson dipped the bread in the stew, biting it and sucking some stew into his mouth. He swallowed nervously, "Uh, if things go wrong, I just...want you to know..."

House interrupted him, sensing the "Jimmy feelies" about to come forth. "If you're going to say that you've always been secretly gay for me, everyone just always kind of assumed it."

"Everyone?" Wilson asked, looking sharply at House as the older man sat right next to him.

"Everyone that counts, now eat your stew while you still can."'

"Let me finish. I just want you to know I appreciate the risk you're taking. Pumping a human being full of lethal chemicals in your living room. If I die, it probably won't go over well with your probation officer."

House clicked on the TV, surfing the cable sports networks for a monster truck rally to distract them both. "I guess that could be an issue."

Wilson chuckled without much humor behind it. "Well I'm glad at least one of us is confident."

"It's not me. I've already identified a couple of spots to dump your body if this goes south."

Wilson thought about that for a moment. "Well, I've always enjoyed Trinity Park."

"It does have nice access to the lake."

House looked down and noticed Wilson's left hand spasming slightly. "Muscle spasms already?"

Wilson pulled his hand back, "No, not really."

"Good news. It usually takes most people two bags to get to that stage. You're way ahead of schedule."

"You know, I always thought I'd have a wife and kids to take care of me for things like this."

House mumbled, while watching two huge trucks on steroids try to mate, "You have everything you need right here."

Wilson heard the unspoken "everyone" behind House's words.

"We both do," House added. As he said this, he felt Wilson's left hand spasm again. He linked his right pinky through Wilson's left pinky to soothe the twitching muscles. Wilson turned sharply to look at House, then down at their fingers, not saying a word; his friend was still watching the show as if nothing unusual had happened.

At the next commercial break, House released Wilson's pinky and stood as fast as his bum leg would allow.

"Fun time!" he yelled, and removed a big syringe of morphine from their "Cure Wilson" coffer. He set it in the drip, with a splitter so he and Wilson could both enjoy it.

Wilson's eyebrow arched up in surprise.

"What? We're on vacation." House pressed the button that regulated the incoming pain medication.

After a few seconds, Wilson couldn't help but sigh, "_Ah_, ah ah..., that is nice. Almost better than sex."

"Hey, don't knock sex. Those endorphins are scientifically well-known to help reduce pain. Why do you think some women can squeeze out 10 pound babies without a lick of medication? Now that's a real woman who can do that."

Wilson's left arm and House's right arm were touching, each with an IV in it. Once again, Wilson's dominant left hand spasmed, a little stronger this time. House's long, slender fingers slid down the back of Wilson's broad, thicker hand and wrapped comfortingly around the fingers. The muscle spasms stopped. Neither man was in a hurry to break the little embrace.

Later that evening, House made sure Wilson had all that he needed, and limped off to his bedroom down the hall. It was a fairly large apartment, but House's doctor's instincts, so finely honed when he was an intern and resident, made it so he could monitor how his friend was doing simply from the noises emitting from the living room. He lay down in the clothes he'd been wearing, black slacks and a matching black t-shirt, and lightly dozed.

House stirred in his sleep, mumbling and moaning against the wicked dreams settling in. Not nightmares per se, but very unpleasant, involving Wilson and Trinity Park and the lake. He'd always had the uncanny ability to wake himself up from unpleasant dreams, something he always thought anyone could do till he got older and started Pre-Med. He startled awake and realized that sounds from the living room had worked their way into his subconscious, sleeping mind.

He found Wilson awake and staring at a corner, where an ottoman was positioned, talking to the air. Wilson's mouth was very dry, he was pale and sweating, and had dark circles under his eyes.

Wilson, still staring at the corner, unaware of House's presence, asked, "Am I dead?" He saw the apparition of a dead pediatric patient reaching for him. He gasped and jumped, his eyes suddenly clear and conscious.

House was reaching for him, his big hand settling on Wilson's shoulder and grasping him firmly. "Not yet. Just feels that way. Are you okay? I mean apart from the pain, the vomiting, diarrhea and cramps."

Wilson couldn't answer; all he could do was collapse back on the couch, panting and moaning. House knelt on his left leg, the hand on Wilson's shoulder rubbing soothingly, back and forth, till the younger doctor fell back into a fretful sleep.

Early the next morning, the sun's first light and first birds being way too cheery, House sat on the coffee table, with a bucket ready for Wilson to vomit in. He put a comforting arm around Wilson's upper back until he was done. House's hand slowly slipped off as Wilson leaned back against the pillows. Wilson opened bleary, blood-shot eyes, looking at House and raising his eyebrows in expectation. Untypically, House didn't immediately make some snarky comment about either the vomiting or the unusual and excessive touching. All he did was bring a wet, clean rag up to Wilson's mouth to clean it inside and out.

Wilson opted for a bit of normality in their lives so made the snarky comment himself. "You were wrong; it did taste worse coming up. What's the total white blood cell count?"

"One thousand. Still dropping." No need to explain any of this; Wilson was an oncologist. House stared at Wilson, worry and love etched on his face, waiting for a reaction. More panting and gasping were all Wilson could manage.

He groaned in pain. "I need more morphine."

"We're out. We've been using my personal supply of pain killers for the last eight hours."

"You have...you have enough for both of us?" He shut up when House dropped some tablets in his mouth. House was amazed, but not too much so knowing his friend as he did, that even through all this Wilson was concerned for him.

"Meh, I've got enough stashed around here for a minion. Here, drink." He helped Wilson wash the Vicodin down with an ice-cold glass of water, hoping the liquid would help soothe a sore, raw throat. "Just remember they're a gift, it's rude to keep throwing them up."

After Wilson once again settled onto the pillows, remote in hand in case he had the strength to watch something mindless, House limped to the dining area without his cane. He set the Vicodin bottle he'd just dipped into on the table, pouring out the remains. Six tablets. No morphine. He rubbed his right upper thigh; he picked up a single tablet and thought about taking it. He glanced back toward Wilson in the living room and put it down, instead reaching for a pull off a bottle of booze in hopes its numbing effect kicked in soon.

Noise from the living area once again rowsed House from a light sleep. Gripping his upper thigh, wincing and moaning, not too loudly, he made his way back to Wilson, who had slid off the couch.

"You lost a contact?"

Panting and sweating profusely, on his hands and knees as well as he could be considering his tremendous weakness, Wilson said, "Going to the little boy's room."

House pointed out, "They're called 'adult diapers' for a reason. Use it."

Wilson ground out, "I did, and if you think I'm going to let you change me..."

House gently said, "It's okay, I'm a doctor."

With sudden fury, feeling beyond embarrassed, Wilson yelled, "Hey! Just leave me alone!" In obvious great pain, he rolled onto his back. "Ah, that's pathetic. I'm pathetic."

House stepped right up to him, his big shoes near Wilson's arm and shoulder.

Wilson was at his most sarcastic when he added "An oncologist with cancer. Of all the things that could be killing me, it's like the universe giving me the big middle finger."

House sat down on the floor to be next to Wilson, leaning against the coffee table. "The universe doesn't care..."

"_Why me_? I was telling my patients not to torture themselves because there's no answer."

"Sound advice," House observed.

"It's cruel advice. They were just trying to make sense out of what was happening to them, and I'm there telling them not to _bother_?" James Wilson glared straight at Greg House. "I should've spent my life being more like you," he snarled. "Should've been a manipulative, self-centered, narcissistic ass, who brought misery to everything and everyone in his life." Wilson crawled back to the couch, trying his damnedest to climb back on, avoiding House's pained, piercing blue eyes.

House was frozen in place, the hurt in his expression and eyes obvious. He stared ahead, licked his lips, and let Wilson rant because he knew it was the cancer speaking: the cancer, the chemicals, the pain, the mortification as his body rebeled.

"You'd still have cancer," House almost whispered.

Wilson, still raising his voice, said "Yeah, but at least I'd think I deserved it!"

House finally looked at Wilson, torn between the hurt Wilson just spewed at him and seeing his best friend hurt in the first place to make him say such things.

A couple of hours later, when it became obvious to both doctors that Wilson's little foray onto the floor and subsequent venting of his spleen had taken their tolls, House was beyond worried.

Wilson was throwing up again into the ever-present sterilized bucket, when the machines behind him started to beep insistently.

"Okay, your heart rate's up, BP's tanking, total white blood cell count is 500. We have to go to the hospital _now_!" Wilson's hazy brain registered something not heard too often: Greg House borderline panicking.

Wilson removed his O2 mask and wheezed, "No!"

"I don't have the equipment or the meds to handle this!"

"_No_! Win or lose, win or lose! That was the deal."

House rolled his eyes, cursing himself for such a statement. "That was the deal when there was an 'or,' you can't win this!"

Wilson cried, "No, no. I'd rather die here!" House placed his big hand on the back of Wilson's head and upper neck, holding him up. Wilson sobbed, "Not in an ambulance, not in the hospital, I can't - please. You can't do that to me! I -." He grabbed House's shirt over the older doctor's left pectoral. "House, please, promise me that you won't do that to me! Promise me!"

House very quietly said, "Okay, I promise."

Wilson nodded and put his O2 mask back on. He knew House would rather die than break a promise to him. House slowly moved his hand over Wilson, finally letting it slip off.

One more night came and went, and the morning sun was rising over Princeton's islands of trees among the cityscape, the bell from a steepled church reflecting the sun's light.

House had been awake all night, keeping vigil over Wilson, pondering their lives and their friendship. He tried not to ponder what he would do if this didn't work and he lost the best and only true friend he'd ever had. His subconscious mind couldn't grasp a world without Wilson, so he tucked that notion away for now. First thing to do was wait the 7 to 10 days for the thymoma to shrink and operate once it was feasible, because this hell he'd just subjected Wilson to had better have been worth it.

Wilson's right hand twitched in his sleep on the couch. House saw it from the corner of his eye, as he'd been watching the lovely sunrise; he lifted his head. Without saying a word, he got up to fetch Wilson another glass of ice water.

When House returned from the kitchen, Wilson was slowly waking up, mumbling and moaning to himself. He took one look at House, seeing the pain, strain, exhaustion and worry in the lined face.

"You really look like crap," Wilson opined, knowing that he looked no better.

"Been fighting a cold lately. So 7 to 10 days for the swelling to go down, we re-scan then schedule the surgery." House knew he was stating the obvious to his friend the oncologist, but for some reason saying it aloud made him feel more confident that it was going to happen. He wasn't one to hang the future on his hopes, but he couldn't help it this time. Again, that nagging dread and emptiness he felt thinking about not having Wilson came to his forethoughts. He worked on lightening the place up in lieu of fretting.

He opened the curtains the rest of the way and stared out the window, to the east, enjoying the view. He often found it hard to believe that New Jersey could be beautiful when it wanted to be, but it was the Garden State after all.

Wilson started to sit up a little so his water didn't spill. "I...seem to recall I said some things to you..."

"You talked a lot. I stopped listening when you confessed your fear of dolphins." He limped toward Wilson, who shut up and smirked, his face pale and sallow and sweaty, his lips dried and cracking.

"Can't we just tone down the bromance a few notches? My leg's killing me."

"One last favor. I'd like to actually make it to the bathroom this time."

House, almost three inches taller than his friend, leaned down and put his arms under Wilson's and hoisted the younger man up. Even though he'd had no Vicodin in several hours, he managed to keep the pain out of his voice and expression as Wilson grasped around House's back to the right side. House put his left arm over Wilson's shoulder as they started the slow walk to the bathroom.

House's leg betrayed him as his upper right thigh bumped against a hallway table and he yelped in pain; his leg threatened to buckle out from under him.

Wilson, dismayed, said "I thought you said you had plenty of vicodin!"

House quoted his favorite personal quote, "Everybody lies."

"So, the way I felt, you feel that what? Most of the time? Really does suck being you, doesn't it?"

"At least I don't have cancer."

House stood at the door till Wilson was inside the bathroom then pulled the door shut. He waited on the outside of the door, listening, making sure Wilson didn't need help.

"House, I've been doing this for quite some time, I don't need a chaperone."

"Yes you do, shut up and do your business."

After a few minutes, Wilson said, "As long as I'm in here, I may as well take a bath. I'm grosser than gross. Can you get me my 'yea, I'm alive' suit that I brought with me, in case I survived this madness?"

"Would that be the one next to your 'bury me six feet under' suit?"

"Yes. I've already got a towel."

House rummaged through Wilson's suit case, actually holding suits, and took out the one with the light grey blazer, slacks and burgundy tie. "Where do you want me to put it?" He yelled down the hall to Wilson.

He heard no reply. He draped the suit over the case, knowing how much Wilson hated wrinkles. Tapping on the bathroom door, he asked, "Wilson? Need some help in there?"

"_No_! Don't come in here, I, uh, well...maybe you should come in."

The first thing House noticed when he went in was how pale Wilson was. The younger man was on the plush bath rug, legs folded under him, arm slung over the side of the tub.

"I guess I am going to need some help, House, I'm sorry."

House smirked down at his best friend. "To quote the great Steve Irwin, 'no worries.' I make a damned good nurse, you know, but tell anyone and I'll make sure the next chemo treatment is the deadly one. Let's go. I'll keep rambling on and on so you won't even notice you're nekkid and having your BFF washing you down. Up and at'em!" he yelled as he again hoisted Wilson up. He helped him to sit on the closed lid of the toilet then started the bath.

"Almost tepid. We don't want to overtax your circulatory system with too much heat. Lose the clothes while I get the bath running. Grab a towel."

House was true to his word and kept a running monologue as Wilson finished undressing, leaving only a towel around his waist. House looked away, fiddling with his bath supplies, while Wilson gripped his friend's strong shoulder to steady himself and climb in.

"See? Not hard at all. Can you lay back and get your hair wet first, so we can get that out of the way? Let's be sure to get the vomit too. Cuddy probably wouldn't appreciate the new hair product."

House could see Wilson was struggling to make a controlled fall onto his back, so lent a strong arm, guiding him down. He very carefully and deliberately kept his eyes forward, watching Wilson as the hair was lathered up. Their faces were mere inches apart, brilliant blue eyes gazing into chocolate brown eyes.

When they were finished washing the thick silken hair, House helped Wilson sit up. "Can you do the uh... more delicate bits as it were? I promise I won't peek."

Wilson did what he could, House constantly within hands' distance in case he had to grab for his friend.

"I'm done with the - ahem - delicate bits, so can you do the rest? My arms are tired and sore from the IVs. And House, one more thing...we _are_ doctors you know. I don't recall ever seeing 'delicate bits' in Taber's."

"Nursing term. It's 'bits, delicate' right before 'bits, naughty'."

Wilson's smile and soft chuckle made House's heart thump harder for a moment. "Okay, now's when I continue my running monologue. Our featured topic today is, as if there's anything else, hospital gossip!"

Wilson closed his eyes in contentment, the slight smile still on his face. House did as he promised and rambled on and on, while soaping up and rinsing off Wilson's pale skin. House knew it was an illusion, but somehow Wilson _seemed_ smaller since they started the chemo treatment. Didn't matter to House, his friend was still beautiful and alive and he was determined to keep his Jimmy that way for the next several decades. He longed to see those chocolate brown eyes again with their characteristic sparkle, as if Wilson knew some private joke he wasn't sharing.

_Hmm, my Jimmy_?, House thought. "There, all rinsed off. I'll get your towel and help you up, hang on." House was doing his best to help Wilson maintain some dignity after this ordeal, and held the towel up for him, eyes averted.

He suddenly felt two warm, wet arms about his shoulders and neck. Before he could turn completely around, Wilson pressed his dry lips against House's cheek, maintaining the light pressure past the point of a typical air kissy-kiss.

Rubbing his tingling cheek, his entire consciousness focused on that point and the arms still wrapped around him, House turned the rest of the way to face Wilson. There were those sparkly brown eyes gazing up at him in expectation of a response, a slow grin moving over Wilson's face.

House reciprocated, placing his arms over Wilson's bare, broad shoulders to gently rub his upper back. "You okay? 'Bout ready to finish getting ready for work?"

"Regardless of what _you_ said when this started, _I_ wanted to say... thank you. That's all." Wilson laughed his first laugh in days. "Had you worried there for a minute, didn't I? You thought I was going to say the 'L' word."

House bestowed one of his rare, stunning smiles on Wilson, pulling the younger man to his chest. The bare warmth eminating from Wilson was wonderful and House felt both their heart rates accelerate. He nuzzled his face into the warm neck, where it met the clavicle and muttered something. Wilson's heart gave a startling thump and he wondered if he just heard what he thought he'd heard.

"What was that, House?" he whispered.

Speaking against the moist, warm skin - which was pinking up nicely from its earlier pallor - House said, "I'll answer that after we've _both_ brushed our teeth. I can't tell whose breath is nastier."

They hurriedly grabbed their toothbrushes and got that task done.

Wilson, still with only a towel around his waist, turned back to House. "So where were we?"

House took Wilson's hands, putting them back over his shoulders as they were before. "I believe we were standing thusly," he said, wrapping his long arms around Wilson's lower back, along the edge of the towel; his mouth slid down from jaw to lower neck, where it was before. A beautiful grin spread across Wilson's face.

House whispered, "And I was about to say this..." He paused a moment, pulled Wilson tighter against him, again nuzzling the soft warm neck. "My Jimmy."

Wilson's breath caught in his throat; it was so exceedingly rare that House - Greg - called him anything but "Wilson" that these moments were to be treasured, but to add the possessive "my" to it... well, that almost blew him away.

House made no effort to move from his position, seemingly content to remain there all day or until his leg gave out, whichever happened first. He had taken such care of Wilson these past couple days - is that how many it was? he wondered - that he decided to be the assertive one.

Wilson pulled back, putting his hand under House's stubbly chin and tilting the older man's head up so they could look eye-to-eye. Such close proximity to those eyes never failed to stun Wilson, so impossibly blue. Their eyes searched the other's face, drinking it all in, committing it to memory especially what happened next:

"My Greg," Wilson whispered, leaning up slightly, touching his mouth to House's for a few seconds, pressing into the receptive, partly-opened mouth. House drew in a sharp breath through his nose and began to respond, his lips grasping Wilson's bottom lip. His body vibrated with an electric shock that stabbed from his chest to his groin and he groaned, wanting - craving - even more.

House drew another sharp breath, pulling away. He rested his forehead on Wilson's, who was also trying to get his breathing under control. Knowing that Wilson had just come back from Death's door, the two friends knew they could not continue. Wilson had improved somewhat after the chemo but he was far from steady. What stability he had needed to be saved for work, so he could at least give the semblance of being relatively healthy and able to treat his patients. Anything less would get him sent home by Dr. Cuddy and neither man wanted to be separated from the other.

House moved toward the bathroom door, but couldn't resist turning around and gazing at Wilson all over, merely because he could. The younger doctor's hair was rumpled and wet, going every which way, and House thought it made him look 10 years younger. The bath, although not too warm, had pinked his skin up all over and he almost glowed, especially his eyes. House again felt that stab cut through him like lightning; his best friend truly was a beautiful man. He had a broad torso although he wasn't fat, his chest smoothe with very little hair. His arms and legs were muscular and strong, thanks to his personal treadmill. House was determined to keeping his body that way, because _when_ this was all over, he had every intention of learning his Jimmy's body cell by cell as only he could.

Wilson's face was flushed as he stood there, letting House examine him. He enjoyed the view of House too, in the snug black t-shirt and black jeans that hung off the taller man in an oh-so-perfect way. Greg House's bad right thigh didn't detract from the rest of the man's body. Wilson knew House was far stronger than he looked; he partly attributed that to House getting into crew while in college. It was still during the formative years, since a young man doesn't stop growing till their early 20s, and all that rowing would've built up not only the upper body, but legs too. House had a powerful, broad back; shoulders and biceps that wouldn't quit, Wilson knew, after his friend hoisted him off the couch. House's high cheekbones and long, elegant fingers of a pianist were also greatly appreciated and Wilson ached to feel them again. And that _ass_! Wilson deliberately directed his thought on that bit of House's anatomy on to more mundane concerns.

"Okay, your turn in the tub, then let's get breakfast and our asses to work." Wilson brushed past House and softly added, "Greg."

Later that morning, exiting the elevator, Wilson looked surprisingly good, his professional suit was impeccable and briefcase stylish. House limped off the elevator behind him.

Wilson sighed, looking around the lobby of their floor. "I'll see you at lunch?"

House didn't answer, but gave him a tiny smile. Wilson responded with a tiny little nod, smiled and walked off. House watched him, all serious, then actually smiled and walked off to cause some more mischief.

As Wilson walked to his desk, about to hang up his overcoat, he noticed his laptop had been open and on all this time that he'd been gone, the screen saver waving around the screen. He touched a couple of buttons to wake up the computer and was stunned to hear Journey singing "Any way you want it!"

His face had a perfect "what the fuck?" look on it as he slowly sat down in his chair to watch. What was especially hysterical were the pictures accompanying the song: Images of the unconscious younger doctor with House and a bunch of hired bimbos all around Wilson with props like they'd just flown to Hawai'i. Wilson began to laugh more and more, the grin cracking his face wide open. Anyone who knew Wilson and House at all could tell he was thinking how very much he loved his Greg, his anam cara*****, his best friend, the one who stuck more close than a brother.

*****anam cara - Celtic for "soul friend."


	2. if he finds you and you find him

(Author's note: Quotes from "Post Mortem" and "Holding On." Stanza Two from 'The Thousandth Man' by Rudyard Kipling. Still don't own them, doggone it.)

_**...if he finds you and you find him...**_

_"Post-Mortem" 8.20_

House turned back to the monitor for the CT scan after Dr. Robert Chase took his leave of him and PPTH. He looked up to see Wilson watching him from the machine.

"Why'd you let him go?"

House smiled, not paying attention to the scanner's monitor. "Legal loophole. Thirteenth amendment. Abraham Lincoln may have looked great in that hat..." House looked at the monitor when the light signalled the scan was completed. "...but his...labor... policies..."

Wilson had been staring at the top of the small chamber his upper body and head were in, but when House's sentence ran down unexpectedly, he turned to see his best friend frozen in place, his blue eyes wide. The man practically radiated defeat and despair.

"House."

Tearing his gaze away from the monitor, House lifted terrified eyes to look into his best friend's brown eyes. Neither of them spoke; there was nothing to say. The chemotherapy had failed to shrink the thymoma and surgery was no longer an option.

The following day, after Wilson had proclaimed that he wasn't going to do any more chemotherapy, and definitely no radiation, House called to his retreating friend, "I'm not going to just let you die!" He watched Wilson walk out of sight, down his apartment building stairs, and turned to go back into his apartment.

Despair was beginning to be an emotion he was feeling far too often; it was a constant, dull ache in the back of his mind. If not for the Vicodin relaxing him somewhat he'd probably be on his fifth panic attack by now. Despair, dread, desperation - "d" emotion words sucked, House decided. He had to do _something_! He was _Gregory House_ for crying out loud, the best damned diagnostician in the whole Northeast, maybe the whole continent. Smartest too, he added to himself.

Wilson was a smart SOB too, House thought; he'd hardly have a mentally inferior man as his best friend. Whatever House tried the chances were very good Wilson would see right through the plan.

He went to look out the window, saw Wilson climb into his replacement gray Volvo and pull out into traffic. House was a little hurt that Wilson didn't wait for him, so they could commute to work together; probably didn't want to give the older doctor a chance to nag him about taking chemo and/or radiation.

_One thing at a time_, House thought, a new plan coming to mind. He'd get Wilson over here first. Not to visit, but for good. "For good" may only be five months he knew; he drew in a shaking breath, trying to think of anything but that final outcome. With this, at least he and Wilson would be together.

House remembered the touching and kissing that occured in his own bathroom, the first morning after the chemo treatment they did at his apartment. Remembered how Wilson looked with only a towel wrapped around him, hanging a little low off his hips. His skin almost visibly changed from pallid to glowing, probably in response to House's thorough scrutiny.

House wanted that again, wanted to put his arms around Wilson's back, feel the strong arms reaching up and grasping his neck, press his lips to his best friend's...

Within the hour, House was at Princeton-Plainsboro parking his motorcycle next to Wilson's car. He got to his office and saw his little ducklings already waiting for him in their conference room. Park was scribbling on the white board while the others threw ideas at her. He watched in amusement as the tiny woman tried to reach higher on the board, running out of space on the lower section. Meh, they'd figure it out.

He flipped his phone open.

_Move in with me._

_Okay._ came the immediate reply.

House smiled because Wilson hadn't even hesitated.

_You want I should couch surf?_

_Not the plan._

_I'll bring my own pillows._

_Fair enough._

House was so engrossed in his text conversation that he didn't realize his team was standing at the side of his desk, no doubt peeking at his phone screen. He quickly flipped it closed.

"I know we're all a bunch of snoops, which makes us the best, so how much of that did you all just catch?"

Park smiled. "Pretty much all of it. Can we assume that was Dr. Wilson?"

House leaned back in his chair, rubbing his eyes. "Jesus H Christ, I can't keep anything from anyone around here."

"It's hardly a secret, House," Taub said. "We know you didn't go to Atlantic City for 'Spring Break,' you were giving Wilson his failed chemotherapy. And we know he hasn't gone to Radiology for radiation treatment, so what? He's given up?"

"_No!_" House emphatically denied, straightening up in his chair. He stood up, towering over his team. "He only thinks he's given up. I told him I'm not going to just sit back and watch him die. We'll think of something."

He grabbed his cane and started for his office exit, to the corridor.

"Is that _hope_ we hear in your voice, Dr. House?" Adams asked.

House stopped, not turning around nor saying a word. The three of them looked at each other as if waiting for the shit-storm.

"Hope is for idiots. This is another puzzle, that's all." _That's all?_ he thought. _That's everything, nothing else matters. Fuck 'em all._

As he reached for the handle to his glass door, his phone buzzed. "Incoming text from Wilson" it displayed.

_I found it in Taber's, Bits, delicate._

House couldn't help the bark of laughter that sneaked out; he turned to look at Taub, Park and Adams and said, wearing a rare, stunning grin, "We're going to be all right."

After he left, Park looked at the other two. "'We're'?"

The following weekend, the two doctors pitched in to hire a moving team, some allegedly "starving students" they found an ad for on campus. Two of them were med students, so feeling magnanimous the two men gave the whole team of workers a handsome tip. Even though they had both gone to college and med school on scholarships (yea, brilliance!), they knew how hard it could be for struggling, up-and-coming doctors. They even threw in grinders and beer when it was all done.

They enjoyed their impromptu feast at the apartment, once all of the boxes and extra furniture were arranged as efficiently as possible.

One of the med students stood by House while Wilson talked to the others. "Dr. House, is Dr. Wilson okay?"

House looked at the young man, raising his eyebrows. He couldn't and wouldn't tell a stranger about Wilson's condition, but his curiosity got the better of him about how this kid knew anything was wrong. "Why would you ask that?"

"Well, look at him; he seems to be healthy, in great shape and all, yet he barely lifted a thing. Sometimes his skin gets really pale, then back to normal. He rubs his sternum periodically. You hover over him like he's on his last breath."

House stared at the kid for a moment; the youngster wanted to fidget but maintained his gaze back at this intimidating doctor.

"You're right, Dr. Wilson is not okay. I can't say any more. However..." House reached into his wallet and pulled out one of his business cards, rumpled around the edges. He did a very rare thing and handed it to the young man. "Let me know when you graduate, you're my new intern. What specialty were you planning on?"

The kid looked at the card, "_Gregory House, MD, Chief, Department of Diagnostics_." He looked up at House and grinned. "Apparently Diagnostics!"

House bestowed the tiniest of grins on the kid. "Good boy. Now get out of here."

After the two doctors were certain their helpers were okay to drive, they shoo'ed them out and Wilson thanked them all again for the help. He turned partway to face House, a small smile on his face.

"Did I see you give that kid a _business card_?"

"Yeah, smart kid. He figured out something was wrong with you from several subtle clues. I told him he's my new intern once he graduates."

Wilson whistled appreciatively, knowing how much House generally disliked "idiot interns" and "retarded residents" and his personal favorite, "f'ed up fellows." That boy was lucky: he was going to learn from the master.

That thought both saddened and pleased Wilson. He wasn't entirely sure that House would be around when the kid graduated med school. Suicide was not off the table; that's one reason of many why Wilson wanted to move in with House. His best friend would try to convince him to take chemo and radiation, and Wilson would try to make House see that life goes on and is good and solving the ever-present medical mysteries would keep him going.

The younger doctor scoped out the boxes, looking for the one that held his bathroom supplies and the one for his casual clothes.

"Who organizes so damned well for moving, Wilson? That's just creepy."

Picking out a pair of sweat shorts, t-shirt and sundry bathing supplies, Wilson retorted, "How would you know? You've had the same apartment for eons."

"Haven't," House said, sticking his tongue out at Wilson.

"Have. I know I didn't do much today but I feel gross. I'm going to take a shower."

"I'm just going to put something cooler on. Watching those kids made me hot, grungey and feeling old. " House stood up and started toward the bedroom. He yelled over his shoulder, "Don't leave the bathroom a mess, I don't have a cleaning woman around here!" He knew he'd get a laugh out of Wilson; as if he'd leave something untidy.

When Wilson emerged from the bathroom in his comfy clothes, he had a white towel on his head, scrubbing his hair dry. He heard one of House's favorite video games; when he looked up, he almost gasped at the sight of Greg House in cool Summer gear. He had his long legs, with bare feet, propped up on the coffee table as he blew away zombie after zombie. The long shorts, going down long enough to cover up the lurid scar on his right thigh, didn't leave much to the imagination even though he was sitting down. His t-shirt was snug across his chest, shoulders and biceps; they flexed and danced over House's tall frame as he wrestled with the controller. "Die, zombie scum!" he yelled at the screen.

"Damn, House," Wilson couldn't help whispering. "You going to, uh, sleep in that?"

House was glad Wilson broke the ice about the sleeping arrangements. Without looking away from the zombie apocalypse playing out on his TV, he said, "Prolly lose the shirt, but yeah." He indicated Wilson's sweat shorts with a quick flick of his hand. "I like those. I vote you wear them more often."

"Noted." Wilson went to the kitchen to grab two beers. He cracked them both open, setting one on the coffee table where House could reach it quickly without losing his zombie-destroying mojo. He loved how his best friend understood him.

Wilson kicked back close to House, but not so close that he'd get an elbow in the ribs. "Who're you playing this time?"

"Nikolai."

"Cool, Nikolai kicks ass."

"Seriously, he does. I always love the 'Soviet' references. Ah, Nikolai, if only you knew."

They sat together in companionable silence while House played Call of Duty. Talking about what they were wearing to bed that night, together, hadn't been awkward at all. Wilson figured _Who gives a fuck? I'm dying any way, I'm going to enjoy myself to the fullest. And oh God, do I love this man. And those shorts. And that t-shirt._

House hadn't felt awkward either; he wanted Wilson with him always, for as long as they could be, which is why he told Wilson to move in with him. _And oh man, do I love this man. And those legs, his thighs. I love thighs. And smile and chocolate brown eyes and oh fuck it._

He stopped the game, stood up and looked down at Wilson. "Come on." He started down the hallway to his room, sans cane, knowing his Jimmy was trailing behind him. He turned at the door, watching those strong legs get closer and closer. As soon as Wilson crossed the threshhold House was on him, pulling him into a desperate, hungry kiss.

Wilson wrapped his arms around House, firmly gripping the strong torso. He responded instantly to the open mouth and seeking tongue, both men groaning into the other's mouth

"God, House, after that morning in the bathroom all I could think about was having you all night long," Wilson murmured, teeth, tongue and lips trailing down a stubbly cheek to the tender spot under House's right ear.

While he nibbled and tongued around the ear, House was almost purring, holding Wilson's mouth to the damp skin. Wilson's hands slowly dipped down House's back, massaging through the t-shirt. When he reached the waistband of the shorts, he slid his fingers ever so slightly inside. House reacted by thrusting his hips forward subconsciously, his own mouth bent to bite and suckle on Wilson's neck and whatever skin the t-shirt wasn't covering.

"Lose the shirt," House mumbled in his deep, rough voice. They took turns removing the other's shirt. House held Wilson's shirt up, holding the younger man's hands together. He pushed Wilson to the wall and attacked the smoothe, broad chest he'd been aching to touch, taste, smell. He teased a tiny nub into hardness, sucking it into his mouth; Wilson's cry almost sounded as if he were in pain, but when House looked up to check, his friend's eyes were closed, mouth was opened and he was panting with want.

Wilson shivered, as if returning to consciousness, and moved his hands up House's back, lifting the shirt up and over House's head. He fell into the taller man's chest, inhaling, kissing, rubbing his cheek against the rough hair. House always smelled amazing and Wilson couldn't figure out why. Leaning as he was against that gorgeous chest, he realized it may simply be pheromones in the sweat.

"Good Lord, you smell good, House. Pheromones. Yum." He loved it so much it spurred him on to be bolder, and he slid his hands down House's shorts, cupping that perfect ass. "Oh, Jesus," Wilson sighed, grasping House hard.

"Jews invoke Jesus?" House laughed and gasped at the same time, running his hands down Wilson's back to put his hands in a similar position.

He was glad he did, because as soon as he gripped Wilson the younger doctor lost his balance, falling completely against House and hanging off the sturdy shoulders.

"Wilson? You okay?"

"I - uh- I don't think so. Light-headed, off balance."

House led him to the bed, made him lie prone and got out his little flashlight. He first checked the eyes' reaction to light. "Pupils equal, round and reactive to light and accommodation. Good. Now follow the little light." Holding his head still, Wilson moved his eyes around as he followed the light.

"James Wilson, Friday, _our_ bed where we were so rudely interrupted..." He reached up to pull House down, but the older man resisted.

"Sorry, sweetheart, not tonight. Don't want to overtax you after a busy day." House leaned down to place a chaste kiss on Wilson's parted, smiling mouth. "Soon, though. Very soon."

House indicated the left side of the bed and Wilson scooched over for him. Made sense to have House's bad leg on the right so it wouldn't be bumped by accident. As House lay back on his pile of pillows, Wilson propped himself up on his arm, looking into brilliant blue pools. He traced a delicate finger over one eyebrow to the other. "You must know you have stunning eyes." He leaned down to kiss each one of them in turn.

House lifted his hand, drawing a soft touch over a dark eyebrow. "And you've got those beautiful chocolate brown eyes that almost constantly look like they're laughing at something unseen." House's hand continued around Wilson's head, gently pulling the younger man down for a deep, loving kiss.

"Wilson, you know I don't say this lightly. In fact, there are only two people I've said it to and you mean way more to me than they ever did." House paused a moment, his eyes flicking back and forth to gauge Wilson's reaction. "I love you."

Wilson's eyes began to tear up but he refused to let any tears drop. "I love you too, so so much." He let his arm slide out from under him, collapsing onto House's strong chest. A long arm looped over his shoulder and Wilson was pulled even closer.

He muttered, "I'm so glad you found me and I found you before this bliss comes to an end."

"Jimmy, please, don't even joke about it, I can't stand it," House whispered.

"Greg, I'm sorry." Wilson felt Greg's heart rate pick up. "I've been thinking about it. I'm ready to start the next round of chemo."

House looked down at Wilson. "Why?"

"Because you need me, and I don't think that's a bad thing any more."

House simply said, "No."

"No?" Wilson asked, surprised by the least likely response he expected.

"You're the only one I'll listen to, and in the last couple of days I didn't and almost killed my patient. It's time for me to accept...you're just smarter than I am."

Wilson rubbed his hand over House's chest, lightly tugging on the hair. "Are you really okay that there's only five months left?"

House sighed, his throat shaky. "No. But it's better than nothing."

"Um. How do we start? Got any oreos?"

House chuckled. "I'm sure there must be some around somewhere."

"Speaking of bliss, didn't Joseph Campbell say we should follow our bliss? I think it's time we start working on it."

House lay on his left side, pushed Wilson onto his left side then spooned against him. "I think we already have, but let's see what else comes up."

Wilson chuckled, then pulled House's arm over his chest, clasping the long fingers in his own and was soon asleep.

_"Holding On" 8.21_

The next morning, they were sitting side-by-side looking at some mountains on Wilson's laptop.

"And this is the peak, almost 8,000 feet high!"

House stared at his friend, then chuckled and said "You do realize my leg situation has deteriorated a little since the last time we went hiking."

"We'll just add another day."

They were interrupted by a knock on the door.

Dr. Foreman and another man came in. "This is Matt Johnson, the hospital lawyer."

Wilson closed his laptop. It wasn't anyone's business what he and House were going to do.

House smirked and said, "Yes, I've decided not to press charges and proceed with the sexual harrassment case."

Johnson held out a ziploc bag of crumpled up sports tickets. "Are these yours? The plumber retrieved them from the hospital outflow pipe. They caused a sewage backup that ruined the MRI, and they have your name on them."

"Gregory 'Danger' House, very common name."

Johnson added, "They have your fingerprints on them also."

House and Wilson looked at one another, as if holding a silent conversation. Foreman figured they probably were.

House stood and said, "So why don't you tell me how many hours of picking up trash you want me to do."

Foreman, with a pained and unusually compassionate tone in his voice, said "House, I tried to keep this internal. The fire department handed the tickets to the police, who contacted your parole officer. It's felony vandalism. He's gonna revoke your parole. There's nothing we can do."

Johnson looked to Foreman for a moment then back to House. "You have to report to Mercy County Jail on Monday to serve out the rest of your sentence."

Silence and dread seemed to vibrate around the room. House finally asked, his voice catching in his throat, "And... and that's how long?"

Foreman could only answer, "I'm sorry."

"_How long?_" House demanded, glancing behind him at Wilson.

Foreman paused, acting like the next two words were ripping his heart out. "Six months."

House and Wilson looked at one another. The look on House's face, in his eyes, terrified Wilson. The older man looked desperately frightened. In one fell swoop, he'd lost his Jimmy, his freedom and most likely his medical license.

_Suicide's definitely not off the bargaining table now_, Wilson thought.


	3. laugh and meet

(Author's Note: If you've somehow missed seeing the final episode of "House, MD" you will _not_ want to read this stanza. The spoilers are more than just major, they're stunning. Seriously. You've been amply warned. As always, I don't own Drs House and Wilson, they own each other.)

_**...laugh and meet...**_

_"Everybody Dies" 8.22 Series Finale and Beyond_

As person after person went to the lecturn to reminisce about Dr. Gregory House, Dr. James Wilson was getting more and more agitated. _The son of a bitch killed himself and they're talking like he was some saint!_ he seethed inwardly. He knew House wouldn't want it this way, everyone acting like they loved him or something. They didn't. They may have respected him, admired him for his incredible medical and deducing skills, but most of them flat-out hated the person of Greg House.

It had been agreed by Mrs. House and the funeral parlor director that Wilson should speak last. He looked around at those closest to him then took the lecturn.

"He was my friend. The thing you have to remember - the thing you can't forget - is that Gregory House saved lives. He was a healer and...and in the end..." James paused a moment, looking out the stained glass windows then resolved to tell the truth, nodding his head, "House was an ass. He mocked anyone: patients, coworkers, his dwindling friends, _anyone_ who didn't measure up to his insane ideals of integrity. He claimed to be on some heroic quest for truth, but the truth is he was a bitter jerk who liked making people miserable, and he proved that by dying selfishly, numbed by narcotics without a _thought_ of anyone. A betrayal of everyone who cared about him..."

The chime of a cellphone interrupted Wilson. "Phone," he said with irritation, holding his hands up.

"A million times he needed me and the one time I needed him..." A phone chimed again, cutting off Wilson's train of thought. "Oh come on, this is a funeral, just get it." The chime went off two more times; Wilson looked around, realizing it was very close to him.

He reached into his pants pocket and felt the phone. He laughed a moment, "Now this is embarrassing! I could've sworn I turned this off." He stared at the phone. "This isn't even my phone."

He flipped it open and saw only four words: SHUT UP YOU IDIOT

Wilson was motionless, staring at the screen, his expression blank. He finally looked up at everyone, trying to keep his voice and face neutral, and said, "Gotta go."

He ran out the door to his gray car, sat down and waited. The next text simply showed an address, nothing more. He was fortunate that no police officers or state troopers stopped him because he was driving way over the speed limit. The old "I'm a doctor, there's an emergency" excuse generally worked so he wasn't too worried.

When he slammed the brakes to a squealing stop, the car lurched forward then settled down. He got out of the car, looking around franticly. He froze when he looked across the street and saw Greg House sitting on the steps, looking as healthy as he ever did.

Wilson felt like he was either dreaming or hallucinating. Fortunately it was a quiet street because without thinking he started across without looking for traffic. Emotions flickered across his expressive face, from astonishment to joy to curiosity at seeing his best friend, who had a slight, happy smile on his face.

"Hi."

"H-How...?" was all Wilson could get out.

"I got out of the back of the building."

"The body..."

"Just switched the dental records."

The two simply stared at one another for a moment, like they were a tiny island in the middle of the noisy city.

Wilson pointed out, "You're destroying your entire life. You can't go back from this! You'll go to jail for years! You can never be a doctor again."

While he was speaking, House just watched him, still with that small smile on his face which basically said _Don't care_.

"I'm dead, Wilson. How do you wanna spend your last five months?"

As Wilson realized the implications of what House did and was doing and saying, both men smiled at the thought of being free to do as they will for the next several weeks and months. Wilson grinned and laughed.

House stood up, and Wilson realized something. "Where's your cane?"

The older man carefully stepped down to the sidewalk. Wilson knew not to offer assistance. "Ashes. I'm about due for a new one anyway."

Wilson laughed and said, "We'll get a new one. And since I can't prescribe you pain meds any more, with pharmacies up and down the eastern seaboard alerted by that asshole Tritter, I happen to have some doctor friends who'll prescribe anything I need to kill the pain as I get sicker. Cuddy'll do it, gladly I'm sure."

"See? Problem solved. C'mon, let's go." He climbed into Wilson's car.

"Where are we going?" Wilson asked as he started the car. He signalled, checked his mirror and pulled into traffic. "You know, up to 30 minutes ago I thought I was without my BFF, 'cause my BFF _had killed himself_!" He glared at House. "It's going to cost you a lot for me to forgive you for that fright. I keep seeing that ceiling collapse and explosion, knowing you were under it all."

House looked at his best friend as he buckled in. His eyes truly looked repentant. "Wilson, I really am sorry for the last several hours. With Foreman there and the fire department showing up, I couldn't go to you to let you know."

"Hmmm," was all Wilson could say as he focused on the busy lunch-time traffic. "We've got to go somewhere to talk. Our place is out, at least for now. People'll be swarming all over the place wondering how I am."

House shrugged. "Call Cuddy. Tell her you had to leave 'cause you were close to losing it and you didn't want to embarrass yourself, you're safe but want to be alone."

"Huh, yeah, and she can tell your _mom_." Wilson again glared at House for a moment then looked back to the road.

House mumbled, "Yeah, my mom...I'll explain this to her some day."

"And in the meantime let her think she's all alone, no husband, no son. That's cruel, House."

"I know but I _don't care_, Jimmy. These next several weeks are all that matter. I'll deal with everything else, ummm, you know."

"You'd better deal, Greg, and be there, and talk to your mother and..."

"Shut up, this is depressing both of us. We're out to follow our bliss, right? Right. So shut up already."

Wilson looked around, realizing he'd been driving without a destination in mind; he could only think about going back to their place, which was clearly out of the question.

"Uh, House, where are we going from here?"

"Bus station."

"Bus station? God, why?"

"You'll see. I'll fill you in on how I've been spending the last several hours."

Wilson pulled into a parking space and they walked to the rows of lockers. House reached into his pocket and took out a locker key. Inside was a single brown leather case that practically filled the small space.

He pulled it out and opened it; Wilson gasped at what he saw. "Holy crap, House, how much is that?"

"Enough. That's all you need to know. I emptied my checking and savings accounts, cashed in all my stocks and bonds. I've got a lot of money, Wilson. I mean, come on, I've been a doctor for forever but could you tell by looking at my place? Sure, I've got a sweet motorcycle, beautiful piano and kickass entertainment system but other than those I've just been squirreling my money away for a rainy day. Got some stocks and bonds from my grandparents and dad, good ol' House family, so, well, there ya go. Guard it with your life while we make a break for your car."

When they got back into the car, House said, "I can't believe I'm about to say this, but let's go to Trenton. Nobody'll ever think of looking for you there."

Wilson laughed at House's reasoning. "Isn't that the truth? Who goes to Trenton voluntarily?"

"No kidding."

They found a moderately-priced hotel in an area of the city that wasn't too wretched. When they got to the desk, with House's leather bag tucked snugly under his arm, the two men looked at each other. House raised his eyebrows and Wilson sighed, pulling out his wallet. He told the clerk they'd need a single room for one night.

The young man looked between the two of them and asked, "Double bed?"

House reached over the counter for the key. "You bet, thanks!" He winked at him and took Wilson's arm. The last remnant of the heroin was finally wearing off and his leg began to ache.

Since neither man had any luggage to speak of, they stripped down to their pants and t-shirts, kicking their shoes and socks into a corner. They sat on the bed facing one another and Wilson said, "Start talking. And this had better be good."

"Wilson, what were you expecting? I'd just found out I had to go back to jail for a longer period of time than..." he almost choked, "you have. Like you said, I was losing you, my freedom and probably my job and medical license. I had to get out. Nothing else mattered. Or matters."

Wilson smacked House on the chest. "And you were going to leave me dying inside in more than one way for the rest of my life, weren't you? You selfish bastard!"

House scooched closer to Wilson and put his arm around the younger man. "I said I'm sorry. You know how rare that is!"

"As hen's teeth," Wilson laughed, leaning into House's chest and encircling arm. "Hmmm, okay, I'm close to forgiving you."

"Only close?"

"We'll see what happens tonight when we get back on our blissful journey. I want you to hold me all night, I want to feel your heart beat, hear you breathing, sighing, gasping, moaning..." He looked up, into bright blue eyes, and wiggled his eyebrows suggestively.

"Oh, Jimmy," House laughed and bent down to kiss Wilson gently on the smiling mouth. "You get to call the shots, I don't want to hurt you in my, um, _enthusiasm_. And trust me," Greg continued, pulling Wilson all the way on top of him, "if I had my way both of us would be walking crooked for the next week."

They ordered from room service later that afternoon, including a six-pack of beer. They set the food trays between them, along with the beer on ice, and mindlessly channel-surfed. No conversation was needed; they were simply enjoying being in on another's company.

"Shit, I haven't called Cuddy and my phone's been off all day!" Wilson realized. He fetched his phone, not the planted one, from his jacket pocket. "Good Lord, 12 missed calls and voicemails. Two from your mom and two from Cuddy and a bunch from your duckies past and present. Hang on, I'll call your mom and Cuddy and ask them to contact everyone else."

He told the two women the same thing: "Yes, I'm fine, I'm still in Jersey, I only need to be alone, I'll be by the hospital tomorrow sometime. Probably the afternoon. Please let everyone else know, I'm not up to calling half the state."

When Wilson carefully climbed back onto the bed, not wanting to disturb the food dishes, he looked at House who again looked very sad.

"Greg?"

House shook himself and smiled, but his eyes didn't brighten as they normally would. "Just thinking about what you said, and my mom. I promise, I'll get in touch with her...somehow. Someday."

"You'd better. Are we done eating?" Wilson started gathering items to put on the trays.

"I am, why? What do you have in mind?"

Wilson carried the trays to the door, setting one down to open the door then putting them out with their lids on them. He turned back to face House and grinned. "Oh, I don't know, I'm sure I'll think of something. Seeing as I'm calling the shots."

"Oh ho, works for me. C'mere!" House held his arm up for Wilson to crawl underneath but the younger doctor had something else in mind.

"Uh uh. Lose the shirt. Slowly." He sat on the end of the bed to watch.

"I bet you say that to all the boys!" Greg replied, wearing a naughty grin. He crossed his arms over his chest to grab the hem of his shirt in each hand and pulled it over his head.

Wilson's eyes glowed and he blushed as he watched. Greg may be older than him, but _goddamn_ he thought, he's got a nice body. The t-shirt had hugged him so tight that the sleeves were stretched taut over his biceps. He knew House's back and broad shoulders were muscular; _oh God, his chest_ he thought as the shirt was tossed into the same corner as the shoes.

"Enjoy it?" Greg asked, his hands folded over his way-too-cute little tummy. Wilson wanted to taste that tummy...for starters...where his lips and tongue moved from there was up to fate. He moved up a little, lying down so his head was even with House's tummy. He moved the hands aside and leaned in to kiss the warm, soft skin. House put his hand on Wilson's head, comfortingly, encouragingly; he didn't want to pressure his Jimmy into doing anything he didn't want.

"Oh, God, Greg," Wilson mumbled against him, slowly leaving a moist trail up the center, kissing and softly nibbling along the way. While one hand was draped across House's waist, the other led the way for his seeking lips, teeth and tongue. He felt a hard little nub in the chest hair, and teased it, pinched and squeezed it. The moan that escaped Greg's mouth drove James further up till he sucked the little nipple into his mouth. He gently pulled on it with his teeth, holding it while the tip of his tongue circled around it.

Greg arched his back, sucking in a quick breath of air, the hand on Wilson's head pushing down seemingly on its own. "Oh gawd!" he gasped, "_Jimmy_!"

Something snapped inside Wilson when he heard that exclamation of his name and he flung himself the rest of the way on top of House. He slammed his lips against Greg's, their tongues instantly entwining as Wilson had dreamed of since that morning in the bathroom when they had first kissed. All he could think was _ohgodohgodohgod he's such an incredible kisser that mouth those lips that tongue ohgodohgod_, it was like a litany in his head.

Wilson finally broke the kiss, both of them gasping for breath. He traced his fingertips over the beautiful mouth and smile. "You are an amazing kisser, Greg, but then again I wouldn't expect anything less."

"I guess we got the gasping and moaning out of the way, so you forgive me now?" Greg asked, looking up into Jimmy's glowing brown eyes; he was lying directly on top of House but knew it wouldn't bother him.

"Undress me. And take your time."

House powerfully, but playfully, shoved Wilson off him and stood up. "C'mere then."

Wilson went to stand in front of House, who gently turned him to face the other way. He grasped Wilson's shoulders and leaned his head down to whisper against his skin, "Jimmy, I'm going to unwrap you like the sweetest present I've ever had. Because you are."

Wilson gasped and closed his eyes when he felt the warm, moist breath on his neck. House put his long arms around his waist and unbuttoned the slacks. Then he lifted Wilson's white t-shirt, a little bit at a time, and kissed each inch of skin as it was revealed. Greg was glad to see the glow of health in the skin, no pallor or any other sign that Wilson was sick. It was smoothe and warm against his lips and tongue, and _Lordy, he tastes good!_

House groaned against Wilson's skin, the vibrations sending a shiver through the younger man. "Greg..." he sighed, leaning back a little to get that mouth pressed in closer. When the t-shirt was almost off, House moved his hands to Wilson's chest, teasing both nipples into hard little nubs. He spent a little time there, tugging and teasing, as he nibbled and sucked on the back of Wilson's neck.

The multiple stimulation almost did his Jimmy in, his knees growing weak. House lowered one arm to Wilson's waist to support him and whispered, "Stay with me, Jimmy." The t-shirt came the rest of the way off, mussing Wilson's hair adoringly. House brushed it out of the way and returned to the spot on Wilson's neck that he'd been lapping on a moment before. He yanked the slacks open at the same time he bit down on the neck, sucking so hard he could swear he was drawing blood.

"_Oh God_!" Wilson practically screeched, pushing his ass back and feeling House's hardness pressing into him.

"My Jimmy, you're mine," House's deep voice vibrated against Wilson.

"Yes, Greg! Yours!"

House didn't waste more time. He slid his hands under the waistbands of Wilson's slacks and boxer-briefs and pulled them down. He tapped Wilson on the calf to step out of them. His lover's ass was literally in front of his face, and Greg used both hands to grasp the firm mounds.

"Gads, Wilson, you've got a fine ass. No towel to hide it this time, holy shit."

House settled back on the bed, resting back on his arms. "Don't turn around yet, I want to see this." Wilson had the body of a man 10 years his junior; the skin was so smoothe, it was obvious he took care to stay out of the sun in his younger days. His ass was firm, his back muscles rippling as he moved his shoulders and arms.

"I promised myself that _when_ we get through all this I'm going to learn every damned cell in your body."

Wilson laughed, "That'll be rather difficult but you're welcomed to try!"

Greg whispered, almost in awe, "Turn around."

James did and stepped forward, propping one knee on the end of the bed. Greg looked him up and down, until his eyes were drawn to Wilson's erect cock. "Holy shit, Jimmy, you - holy shit."

"Very eloquent," Wilson said, but he couldn't help blushing as he climbed the rest of the way onto the bed. "Now it's time for you to lose the pants." He put words to action and pulled off House's jeans and black boxer-briefs. Greg's hand automatically went to his right thigh; Jimmy moved it and leaned down to kiss him sweetly on the mouth.

"Nothing I haven't seen before, Greg," he pointed out. It was his turn now to admire how endowed House was, just as he always suspected he would be. "Good lord, is that going to be in me?"

"Yeah, in some orifice, your choice!"

Wilson straddled House over his waist, making sure he didn't put any pressure on the right thigh.

"Speaking of which..." Greg gripped James' ass, pulling him forward, thoroughly intending to suck that luscious, fat cock into his eager mouth.

Wilson stopped after moving forward only a few inches, "Uh uh uh, that's not it. Hang on."

He carefully lifted a leg over House's head and reversed his position, so he was leaning directly over House's erection. Greg got the clue and chuckled. "Ah, okay, this works for me, most definitely."

James moved down, his mouth almost touching Greg's hardness. "I thought this would be easiest on your leg. But mostly 'cause it's one of my very favorite positions." He put his hands under House's thighs to brace himself, and to pull the man closer to him, as he stretched the rest of the way to draw that length into his mouth. "Hmmm," he hummed, relishing the almost sweet-salty taste, the smootheness of the skin. He could feel the rapid heartbeat throb through it.

Meanwhile Greg held Wilson's thighs steady, his head thrown back, gasping at those first few moments of wet heat on him, drawing him down, down further in till he could feel the throat. "Ah ah, Jimmy... wait, wait," he said urgently, pulling Wilson back by the thighs.

Wilson's mouth smacked as he released House and he asked irritably, "C'mon, Greg, I was enjoying that! What?!"

"We need to turn onto our sides, I can't reach you and it's driving me nuts! I'm too tall and I'll wreck my back and neck if I try to stretch up the whole time and it won't be fun at all," he ended in a sulky voice.

"Oh hell, I hadn't thought of that. I'm used to being the taller one in this position!" He shifted to his side as House directed, the older man rolling onto his left side as well.

House put both hands on that ass that he loved so much and greedily looked at Wilson's substantial cock. "I hope these walls are soundproofed, 'cause I'm gonna make you beg and scream for mercy, Jimmy." He brought the tip of his tongue to the slit, lapping up the moisture gathered there and the taste, touch and nearness of his lover were too much. As teasing as Greg wanted to be, he couldn't bring himself to do it and, holding his lips tight together, drew the crown and head of Wilson's hardness slowly into his mouth. He sucked his cheeks in till they hugged the length of the shaft; he wanted his mouth to feel like Wilson was sliding into a woman... or House, either way would be pleasurable to his Jimmy and that's all he wanted.

Wilson took the same approach as a few moments before: simply engulfed House as far in as he could, the hard head and upper shaft slamming into the back of the mouth. He forced himself to relax his throat muscles, then contracted them as if he was swallowing House completely into him. Wilson imagined that hard length of smoothe flesh pushing into him as he deep throated, trying his damnedest to concentrate on bringing Greg off while also enjoying what was happening to his lower half.

Not only was House sucking and slurping as if his life depended on it, but he was also massaging and squeezing Wilson's ass. One hand left him for a moment and he felt two fingers inside House's mouth, along with his cock, then those wet fingers were probing Wilson's entrance. He tensed, knowing what was coming.

He yelped around House's cock as the wet fingers rubbed against the bundle of nerves opposite his prostate. He thrust down into Greg's mouth, over and over, as the two fingertips teased and tickled that spot.

"Greg..." he muttered, teeth scraping against the still-throbbing length of flesh in his mouth, "_Greg_!" he screeched as well as he could, gave one more thrust and emptied himself; he felt the mouth around him still, the fingers withdrawn. He knew the throat was drinking him down and when House felt the startling, erotic scrape of teeth and heard his name he found his release seconds later.

Wilson kept himself attached - somehow - and returned the favor by swallowing House whole. When they were done, both slowly relieved the stretched skin of their mouths. James dropped his head to House's upper left thigh, struggling to catch his breath and calm his heart rate. He surreptitiously rubbed his sternum, which ached not only due to the thymoma but because he'd been resting on it while working Greg with his mouth in his earlier position.

"Jimmy, why are you rubbing your chest?" Greg quietly asked, his head bent down to see better.

"It's nothing, House, I - I - " he never finished; his head collapsed to the outside thigh and he was motionless.

"Christ!" Greg yelled, very carefully moving Wilson off of him. He was already a strong man, but worry and adrenaline gave him the added boost he needed to get his friend arranged comfortably on the mattress, two squishy pillows under Jimmy's head. House again checked Wilson's eyes, lifting each eye lid and checking the pupils' responses. A "mini stroke" or full-blown stroke weren't out of the question, what with the chemo Wilson had been through and stress over the last day or two.

Once House established Wilson was merely sleeping from exhaustion and sexual satiety, he washed himself and Wilson up with warm wet cloths. House climbed in next to his best friend, enfolded Jimmy in his arms and was soon sound asleep as well.


	4. to the gallow's foot one

(Author's Note - I meant for Stanza 4 to be all in one chapter but this begged to be separated. The final installment will be coming soon, and it's definitely going to be rated M and be slashy, heh.)

_**...to the gallow's foot...**_

_"Everybody Dies" 8.23_

House and Wilson sat perched on their motorcycles, taking their last good look around New Jersey.

Wilson, scanning the trees from the high bridge, said "When the cancer starts getting really bad..."

House picked up his helmet, poised to put it on, but first reminded Wilson of one thing: "Cancer's boring."

Wilson smiled at his best friend in acknowledgement and the two men put their helmets on, started up their motorcycles and started the long trek to the West Coast.

A couple of days before, in Trenton, the two men had discussed where they wanted their road trip to take them. House knew Wilson didn't want to do chemotherapy but he figured it wouldn't hurt to try convincing him - again. House knew Wilson had offered to re-try chemo, but he was going to do it for the older man, not for himself.

_Maybe a different venue will convince him_. House took his fork and picked at his breakfast in their hotel room, trying to sound non-chalant.

"We could, um, go to Seattle?" he said, almost as a question. "I wouldn't mind seeing the Space Needle and Mount Rainier. Not too many active volcanoes on the eastern seaboard."

James gave his best friend a suspicious squint, angling his head to stare at House. He finally said, "I know what you're doing, House. I know the real reason you want to go to Seattle."

"It's a beautiful city! Beautiful state! Mountains, including the aforementioned volcanoes, water, high plains, we go could to the rain forest, we could - "

"...go to Seattle Cancer Care Alliance and/or Fred Hutch, I know. Only two of the best cancer research and treatment facilities in the country."

"What a coincidence!" House exclaimed in faux surprise. "C'mon, Jimmy, if nothing else it'll be a great trip out there and like I said the city and surrounding areas are beautiful. "

"I've been there, I know. My family went there years ago. To tell you the truth, I wouldn't mind seeing it again." Wilson also wouldn't mind at least checking SCCA and the Fred Hutchinson Cancer Research Center, but he didn't want to tell House that.

So now here they were heading out of New Jersey, west bound to hook up to I-90 east of Chicago. From there it'd be smoothe, fast sailing across the country where the freeway ended in Seattle. It didn't promise to be too exciting and scenic, but it was the fastest way there without flying.

House made sure they stopped every early evening so Wilson could get a decent night's sleep then they'd be off again in the morning after a hearty breakfast. It was a couple of hours past sunrise when they reached the ID-WA border.

"Should be hitting Seattle right about rush-hour," House observed. "Let's get a hotel downtown. According to the map SCCA and Fred Hutch will only be a mile or so north, both on Eastlake Avenue East. Only a few blocks from each other. That's convenient."

Wilson simply nodded his head and continued to watch the road, not commenting.

House asked, "So what do we do, just go up and knock and say, 'Hey, can I have chemo here for my friend the oncologist who's got thymus cancer?'"

"I have some colleagues at both locations, as well as UW Medical Center and Harborview. It's all part of the UW system. I'll simply introduce myself at the SCCA main desk and see who's there that I can start a dialogue with. You, on the other hand...hmmm, since you're 'dead' they probably can't verify credentials on you. I'll just say you're my domestic partner, significant other, boyfriend, whatever and sign a medical release so they can talk to you about me. You can tell them you were an MD in a previous life, which is why you know so much. Is that okay?"

House smiled, "Of course! In this state they wouldn't even bat an eye at you about it. While you're at it, get a scrip for medical marijuana too, they love giving that stuff to cancer patients."

House's estimate of when they'd arrive in Seattle was accurate so it was stop and go traffic from east of Lake Washington to the end of the line near the sports stadiums. He'd checked the map and saw I-90 ended on 4th Avenue South. All they had to do was turn left, head north a short way into downtown Seattle and there'd be a few hotels to choose from.

"That was easy," Wilson said. They didn't have much, having come in on their motorcycles, so they got parked (not wanting any valets touching their wheels) and carried their saddlebags with them to the front desk.

They checked in as they had everywhere: apparently as a committed couple, requiring only a single with a double bed. By this point they both essentially considered themselves a couple.

A bellboy relieved them of their "luggage," placing it all on a rolling cart. Greg casually put his arm around his Jimmy's shoulders, again affirming that nothing else mattered except Wilson's final weeks and months, and that he could be very caring and loving, _If only to me_, Wilson thought with pride and love as he walked alongside the taller man. He gave the young bellboy a good tip once their stuff was unloaded from the cart onto the huge king-sized bed.

As they settled into their new hotel room, moreso than they had on the trip across the country, they talked about what steps they were going to take next.

House stood at the window, looking at the busy traffic below on 4th Avenue, one of the main drags through downtown Seattle. To his right was a glass behemoth of a building which he and Wilson had earlier found out was the renovated Seattle central library. 'With it being Friday afternoon, probably not the best time to head to Fred Hutch or SCCA if that's where you want to try first."

Wilson finished arranging all of his personal care products in the bathroom, kicked off his boots and socks and climbed on the bed to lean back on the pillows. "I'm beat, House, let's think of something in the morning. Or later tonight. I wonder what kind of night-life Seattle has anyway."

House eyed the library a little longer. People were coming and going, including with little kids, so he got the impression it wasn't going to be closing any time soon. "You know, Wilson, if you want you can chill here for a while. The library's right there, I could go find something to read or watch, and be back in an hour or two for dinner? We should be able to find something."

Wilson scooted down till he was lying prone, and fluffed the pillows under his head. He said tiredly, "'Sokay, wake me when... you're..." and he was out.

Greg smiled fondly down at his friend. The stretch of I-90 from Spokane to Ellensburg had been amazingly boring, almost like a moonscape, and it was like the boredom had finally caught up to his Jimmy. He patted Wilson on the head, almost like his pet, and bent down to kiss the thick brown hair. "I'll be back," he whispered.

House went immediately to the medical journals once he figured out the lay of the land inside the bizarre building. He hadn't had the chance to read the current editions of his usual journals so had a lot to catch up on. He flipped through the tables of contents for anything to do with oncology research and treatment. He saw one in the fourth journal he tried that made him pause.

The article described a treatment that they didn't even refer to as "chemotherapy." He read about one woman who went in for treatment on a weekly basis only, for a simple injection. She'd had 3rd stage ovarian cancer when she started treatment; this was a cancer with one of the lowest survival rates. At least by her picture, she looked like a relatively healthy middle-aged woman. Her husband next to her was quoted as saying how wonderful this treatment is; it's a long drive to get it, but the whole thing is over in 20 minutes and they're heading home.

Another study was done on four men who started out with 4th stage lung cancer. When they began the treatment none of the men was expected to make it to the end of the month. All four were still in the hospital, still alive and sitting up and visiting with friends and families.

"Holy shit," House muttered under his breath. If this stuff could help ovarian cancer and non-small cell lung cancer, what about for a thymoma? He read more about the company who developed the treatment: Endocyte. "Huh, back east, figures," House chuckled. Here they came all the way to Seattle when they probably hadn't needed to.

The article explained how the process worked: for the two demonstrated study groups, it was - of all things - folate that triggered it. Seems those types of cancer cells _love_ folate so soak it up when it's injected, not realizing there are little molecular "bombs" inside waiting to kill the cancer cells, leaving the normal cells alone.

It also said how these little "bombs" could be personalized to each person, perhaps using folate, perhaps something else - whatever nutrient those types of cancer cells may be attracted to. House was so excited he was shivering, his hands shaking as he gripped the magazine.

He went to the check-out and information desk and asked where he could go to buy a copy of the medical journal, knowing he couldn't check it out as a visitor to Seattle. The info desk attendant told him easy directions down 5th Avenue then over to 7th Avenue to Barnes & Noble, all well within walking distance.

Too distracted by his goal to say "thank you," he simply nodded his head, put the journal down and exited from the upper level onto 5th Avenue. He was ecstatic when he found the journal he needed and walked as quickly as his right leg would allow back to their room.

House burst into the room, "Jimmy, Jimmy, _look_!" He bounded onto the bed, rowsing Wilson and flipping the journal in front of his face.

"Wha- Greg, what-?"

"Listen, listen!" House read the article to Wilson, who was waking up more and more as his befuddled brain absorbed the information. When House was done he smacked the journal down on the bed.

"What do you think of _that_?" House demanded, a rare and stunning smile on his face. "It's not even really chemo! Doesn't do a thing to your white blood cells. No evil side effects, at least per the article. We've got to be at SCCA first thing Monday morning."

Wilson took House by the shoulders, enfolding his arms around him. "Greg, it does sound wonderful but let's not get our hopes up _too_ high. It sounds like they and I will need to do some research of our own, like what nutrient would these cancer cells go for? Every cell's different in each person's body with our unique DNA. Maybe they don't even know yet what nutrients thymoma cells would go for, like these two types going for folate."

"I know all that, dummy, I'm just excited there may be some hope without having to put you through chemo again. So let's plan on being at SCCA Monday morning."

Wilson shook his head, "No, we go to Fred Hutch. That's the research portion, then we'll go to SCCA to receive the actual treatment once we find out how these little 'bombs' work with which nutrient. I believe we'll get in touch with Endocyte sometime during this, since it's their proprietary process. And, since it's experimental, I'm 99 per cent sure my insurance through work won't cover it."

"Fuck the cost, I can handle it. I told you I've got a lot of money," House pointed out.

Wilson shrugged and put his hands up, "Okay, we can see it as you paying me back for the multitude of lunches and dinners I've bought you over the years."

Greg leaned up and kissed his Jimmy. "No payback, it's because I love you, dumbass."

House was too jacked up to stop, so pulled Wilson down on top of him, deepening the kiss, moaning into his lover's mouth. When Wilson responded enthusiastically, obviously having recovered from being on the road all day, Greg rolled them both over and looked down into dreamy brown eyes.

"Oh, Jimmy, we're going to do it!" He leaned in to nibble on the soft, warm neck.

"Finally?" Wilson gasped, pushing Greg's mouth into his neck.

"Get you all better," he clarified.

"_Oh_ I thought you meant something else!" his Jimmy laughed, running his hands up from House's ass to his upper back and down again. He relished the solid weight of his friend on him, the wet lips and tongue on his neck.

House pulled back, his blue eyes dark, the pupils blown wide with excitement. "As much as I'd love _love_ to do that, Jimmy, I think we should wait till we find out how this treatment might go, 'cause like I said, in my enthusiasm we're gonna be so sore and sated we won't be able to walk for a week! You're not well."

Wilson sighed, pulling House down against his neck again where the older man resumed lightly sucking and nipping the warm, pliant skin. "I know that, Greg. This is good though. Very good!"

They spent some time simply holding, kissing, loving one another with their mouths and hands till Wilson's stomach demanded attention. House fell back, laughing.

"Is that a hint? Let's get out of here, see what Seattle has on a Friday night."

The two dressed casually for going out, opting for jeans, t-shirts and sneakers, and went to the concierge at the front desk. They asked if there was a good place in downtown they could walk to; he recommended the Triple Door, just a few blocks away. Or they could walk south a short way to Pioneer Square; there were lots of clubs with various types of music.

"Keep to the main, well-lit areas though; some parts of Pioneer Square can get kind of iffy," he warned.

Both men laughed, and Wilson explained, "We just came in from New Jersey, including Trenton. I'm sure we can handle ourselves."

They walked down 2nd Avenue and discovered the Pioneer Square area. The buildings were old, at least for Seattle, and it was lively on a Friday night. They walked down 1st Avenue a ways till House's keen ear homed in on piano music.

"A piano bar?" he said hopefully, looking at Wilson to see if the younger man would mind. He knew how much House loved to play piano and hadn't had a chance since he "died."

"Sure, why not?"

They walked in, amazed that the air was clear and nobody was smoking. "Huh, probably some Seattle law," Wilson said. Not that the two men minded, since neither smoked cigarettes.

They walked over to the piano, where a man was tinkling away at a simple song that, in House's opinion, any first year piano student could do. The man looked up at the two and smiled.

"Can I have next?" House asked quietly. The man looked him up and down, as if assessing his worthiness; all he saw was a tall, lean man in casual clothes and a scruffy face. Wilson held his breath, knowing House was restraining himself from being snarky to the man. Even Wilson, who didn't play piano, could tell this man was mediocre at best.

"You sure?" the man asked condescendingly, "This is a rather picky crowd."

House and Wilson looked around; nobody was even paying attention to them. They concluded the crowd didn't really care.

House offered a slight grin, trying to keep the sarcasm out of his voice. Wilson thought he did a great job, knowing how Greg could be. "I'm sure."

The man stood and offered the bench to House. When he sat down, Wilson sat next to him, but of course wouldn't try any playing. He only wanted to be there when House stunned the crowd, which he knew the older doctor was about to do in two seconds.

House ran his fingers over the keys to check how in or out of tune the piano was. Satisfied enough that the piano was worthy of his fingers, he started with Beethoven's Emporer Concerto, a fun piece for him because it was almost like a musical sampler of Beethoven's work. Wilson glanced up and grinned proudly; everyone in the club had frozen to look up at this newest pianist. The "song" the previous person was playing was like elementary school to House's college piece.

He only played a portion of it, because it was a rather long piece and he didn't want to lose the attention of the crowd. When he looked up, the crowd applauded him. He smiled and said, "I have a special song I wanted to sing for my friend here," he nodded at Wilson. "I'm sure most of you will recognize it."

When the opening notes of "Leave A Tender Moment Alone" started, Wilson busted up laughing, clapping, and muttered, "House, you shit. Just don't play it over and over again!"

"No promises," House muttered out of the side of his mouth. When that song ended the crowd once again showed their appreciation with enthusiastic applause.

"One more for now..." "Awww," the audience complained. "I think you'll know this one too. I told my friend Dr Wilson here that this was 'our' song. I think he thought I was joking!"

With that he went into "My Heart Will Go On," and Wilson once again screamed with laughter. "You so suck," he whispered, but started singing along to it. He had a pleasant tenor to House's deep baritone and the two singing together, looking at one another occasionally, had a huge impact on the crowd. It was obvious there was more there than simple friendship.

After the song ended, both men stood and took a small bow. Wilson said, "He's already introduced me, let me introduce Dr Gregory House." The crowd clapped a little louder, laughing. The spectacle of two doctors performing at the piano was something else.

Since the men had pounced onto the piano when they came in, they hadn't found a table yet. They sat near the window so they could watch the night-life of Pioneer Square pass by. A server joined them and told them their first drinks were on the house, thanks to the great piano and singing entertainment.

"Two scotches, neat," House said automatically. Wilson nodded his head in agreement.

"And nachos," Wilson added. House looked at him like _Scotch and nachos_? Jimmy just shrugged at his friend.

"I'm hungry. May as well enjoy while I can."

House was asked a couple of more times to play the piano, actually taking requests. Wilson grinned indulgently, smiling because House was being so amiable to the strangers. It was almost like he was re-inventing himself, being in a new city around new people, both quite different from what they were used to back east.

He returned to Wilson at their table, who was still nibbling on the substantial nachos he'd received earlier before the requests started.

"You're loving the attention," Wilson accused with a smile.

House popped a chip piled high with trimmings in his mouth and said around his food, "Naw, I'm doing it for you. I decided not to be a bitch tonight."

"Just a slob, close your mouth for crying out loud!"

While they were enjoying the food and drink, two pretty young women came up to them.

The taller of the two, a brunette, addressed them both. "Dr House, Dr Wilson? Do you work up at Harborview? I don't recognize you. Or maybe Swedish or Virginia Mason?"

Wilson chuckled and said, "None of them. Princeton-Plainsboro, in New Jersey. We're visiting. I have some colleagues with Harborview and UW Medicine." He glanced at House, who merely shrugged and waved his hand at Wilson as if telling him _It's your call_.

"I'm here as a patient, and Dr House is along for moral support. He's my towering pillar of strength in case you couldn't tell."

The two girls laughed in appreciation.

The blonde girl looked between the two handsome doctors and asked, "Can we show you two around tonight? Lots of great places either here in Pioneer Square or up on Capitol Hill."

Before Wilson could respond with an affirmative, which House knew he was about to do, he jumped in and said, "Thanks, ladies, but Dr Wilson isn't doing as great as he looks to be right now. He really can't be overtaxed, at least not till we talk to the docs at Fred Hutch and SCCA."

"_Oh_," the women said, the reason lighting their faces.

"Sorry, doctor, we didn't know..."

"No way you could have known, but I see you know what Fred Hutchinson and SCCA are. You work at Harborview, then."

"Yes," the brunette responded. "We'll leave you alone then. Best of luck, Dr Wilson, Dr House."

The two men nodded in acknowledgement and watched them walk away. "Nothing wrong with that," Wilson said. Then he turned to face Greg, "but nothing's as good as who I've got."

"Damned straight. Or not, doesn't matter. You up to walking back to the hotel? We could catch a cab if you're not."

"I think a cab would be good."

House was glad they hadn't walked back, even if it wasn't very far (but up two hills). By the time they entered the room, Wilson climbed into bed and simply passed out. House removed his shoes, socks and jeans and left him alone.

For the remainder of the weekend they had fun playing tourist. They went up to the top of the Space Needle where they had a breathtaking view of Mts Rainier and St Helens. Sadly, Mt Baker to the north wasn't visible. They took an hour-long ferry boat ride to Bremerton; on their way there and back they saw sea lions, dahl's porpoises and even orcas. Bald eagles were virtually everywhere, including one spotted on the downtown waterfront. When it flew off to the northwest (to Magnolia a local told them) the pigeons and seagulls seemed to emerge from the woodwork.

"Bald eagles in downtown Seattle, don't that beat all?" Wilson asked, amazed.

They bought armfuls of oddities at the Curiosity Shoppe with tote bags to hold everything. Wilson eyed the huge new ferris wheel nearby.

House stretched back so he could see all the way to the top. "Jesus, I don't even have cancer and I'd get nauseous on that."

"Great, let's go up!" Wilson crowed, clutching his treasures to his chest.

House glared at him. "You're a mean SOB, you know that? You know I can't tell you no, darling," he finished, batting his eyes at Jimmy playfully. With his own tote bags filled with his items, they got in line for the ferris wheel.

When they got to the booth House asked the guy, only part jokingly, "Got any dramamine?"

The man handed him four pills, two for each. "Two bucks."

"Thanks." They washed them down with their water bottles. By the time it was their turn to climb into their "pod" the medication had had a chance to take effect.

By early Sunday evening, even House was tired out from all the walking around, he could only imagine how Wilson felt. They once again caught a cab in lieu of walking back to the nearby hotel.

House and Wilson shared a long, luxurious shower together, taking turns lathering each other up and rinsing off. They both ached to do more than that, but both also ached in many places from the stresses of the weekend. They toweled one another off and climbed into bed, wrapping warm moist arms around each other.

"Tomorrow," whispered House into Wilson's ear, which was right next to his mouth. "Tomorrow morning we'll find out at Fred Hutch if this is feasible."

"I know you don't pray, Greg, but think good thoughts for me. For us."

House turned Wilson's head to give him a sweet, lingering kiss. "That I can do, I promise. Now sleep, love."

"Hmmm, love," Jimmy mumbled and was gone, Greg's arm still snugly around him. Greg watched him for a few moments, the happy smile on his Jimmy's face. He closed his eyes, thinking those good thoughts, seeing himself and a healthy, vibrant and beautiful James together for the rest of their lives.

(A/N Part Deux - I should give credit to Endocyte. My niece is a research scientist there, and she and her lab partner were two of the driving forces behind the little folate "bombs" that they're testing on ovarian cancer and non-small cell lung cancer patients. So that part of the story is real. Now we just have to figure out if something can affect thymus cancer in the same way.)


End file.
